New Guy
by Afalstein
Summary: "I'm NOT going to poison my coworkers, Jack, and I'm NOT going to call up a murderer or whatever, because that guy is NOT an assassin! He is a NICE, HANDSOME, ORDINARY man who simply can't act!"


**New Guy**

* * *

"No, no, no." Liz Lemon pressed her hand to her forehead in frustration. "You're supposed to be a dumb country redneck in this sketch, not some Wall Street socialite! You need to talk with an accent, like: 'Howdy, stranger!'"

The stone-faced man on stage looked confused, a fact not helped by the overalls he was wearing and the pitchfork gripped in his hand. "Howdy stranger." He answered in a monotone.

"Blerg." Liz groaned. "Okay, how about we take a short break. Back in five, people!"

The crowd on stage slowly started to disperse, pages running up to provide people with coffee and/or biscuits. Frank and Jeff started arguing about whether the monkey on the wagon was going over the top, and Tracy walked over to sweet-talk the makeup girl.

Jenna appeared from backstage. "Hey Liz." She whispered. "Where's the cute new guy?"

"Him? Ugh, he's on stage." Liz answered, gesturing vaguely. "And for the record, I still think this is a terrible idea."

"Liz, not all of us need to accept dying alone and unloved." Jenna answered, smiling. "Some of us still have some charms we can actually use. Wish me luck!"

"Break a leg." Liz answered, making a face at Jenna's retreating back. Really, the cowgirl costume? If this guy's skill at acting rednecks was any indication, she doubted he'd be interested in a country girl, no matter how much skin she was showing.

"How's it going, Lemon?"

"Gah!" Liz spun around to confront Jack Donaughy. "You! Stop doing that! And, for your information, it's going terribly! That new actor you sprung on me has all the expression of a washboard!"

Jack seemed to consider this. "I find that hard to believe. His sponsor was willing to pay quite a lot to get him on the air."

"Yeah, well, just because someone has a butt-load of money doesn't mean they're actually GOOD at anything!" Liz responded.

"Don't start talking nonsense, Lemon, you're not old enough yet to get away with senility." Jack shook his head. "Money means a person is good at SOMETHING, even if it's only getting born into the right family or having the right kind of sexual prowess with the right sorts of people. And it's much more reliable than skill or talent or hard work or any of those things you're always going on about."

"Like integrity?" Liz glared at him.

"Especially integrity." Jack froze suddenly. "Lemon." He hissed, grabbing her arm and pulling her back into the shadows. "Who's that silver-haired man in the overalls?"

"That guy?" asked Liz incredulously, looking at her boss with disbelief. "That's Mr. Born-Into-the-Right-Family that we were just talking about. Are you saying you sprung him on me and didn't even bother to meet him yourself?"

"No, no…" Jack shook his head, still staring at the man. Spinning Liz around, he gripped both of her shoulders. "Lemon." He said intently. "What have I always told you about what to do when meeting new people?"

Liz thought for a moment. "Never trust anyone who smiles?"

"The other one."

"Don't fire until you see the whites of their eyes?"

"Getting closer."

"Have a plan to fight anyone you ever meet?"

"Yes!" Jack nodded. "Always make a plan to fight anyone you ever meet! I've sworn by it ever since I had to cage-fight Bob Dole, and I'm telling you now, Lemon…" He cast another glance up at the stage. "…I would not want to fight that man."

"You're kidding."

"I assure you, Lemon, I've never been more serious about anything." Jack's eyes narrowed. "That's it. He's an assassin. You can tell."

"Jack, he's not an assassin, he's not even dangerous," answered Liz, struggling out of her employer's grasp. "He can't ACT, for crying out loud!"

Jack shook his head "No, no, that just means he's all the more dangerous. The truly talented can't act, Lemon, that's why I always found it so difficult, why all celebrities are idiots, and why we leave it up to people like you. No, this man is a trained killer, and he's here to kill one of us. Probably me."

"Jack, the man is NOT a killer, okay?" Liz made one last, fruitless appeal to sanity. "He's just some rich kid who can't act! Forget I even mentioned him. If he was out to kill you, he'd be staking out your office, not mixing down here with us idiot actors."

"Yes, that's true." Jack seemed to calm down and Liz emitted a premature sigh of relief. "If he was after me he wouldn't be down here. So then the question is… which one of YOU is he trying to kill?"

"Jack…!"

"Maybe Tracy. Has he been following Tracy?"

"No, he has not! He hasn't been following anyone, okay? I mean, Jenna's been around him all day, but that's just cause she's got this weird fixation with silver hair." At Jack's odd look, she groaned. "Something to do with Alex Trebeck… I don't know. The point is, he hasn't been following anyone around."

"How can you be sure, Lemon?" Jack narrowed his eyes at her.

"Because! He's been on stage all day! Your little deal demands that he be in all the sketches, remember? The only time he HASN'T been on stage is when he dropped in on the writers meeting, earlier today."

Jack looked from her to the overall-clad man onstage. "He must be after one of the writers, then. But WHY? They're not anyone important!"

"Hey!" Liz glared at him.

A roll of the eyes was Jack's answer. "Oh, come off it, Lemon, you have to admit, none of you are important enough to warrant hiring such a clearly professional assassin."

"Okay, for the last time, HE'S NOT AN ASSASSIN," insisted Liz. "Assassins don't wear overalls, they wear suits. And they don't eat at Mac's Mysterious Meats, they eat at…" She waved her hand vaguely. "I don't know. Lobster-and-wine-y places."

"That's true, there are at least three assassins that frequent Beckridge's." Jack mused. "And Lemon, how many times have I told you about accepting mediocre dining…" Jack's face suddenly froze, as if the wheels in his head had gone into high gear. "Lemon." Whirling around, he gazed at her intently. "This is important. Have YOU been around the stage all day?"

"Uh, yeah." Liz shrugged. "Duh."

"And you were at the writer's meeting?"

"Again, duh."

"And you saw him at Mac's, where you eat every day against all decency and common sense?"

"Hey, eating at Mac's makes PERFECT sense!" protested Liz. "It's close, it's affordable, it's fast…"

"…it's been closed three times by the FDA, yes, yes, Lemon, we'll discuss your many poor life choices later, but right now we have graver issues at hand." Jack answered, still craning his neck to keep an eye on the man on stage. "For reasons I am at a loss to understand, you seem to have become the target of a professional assassin."

"WHAT?"

"Not so loud, Lemon!" Jack hissed. "It all adds up. The only question is why they would bother to kill a nobody like you." Craning his neck still further, Jack studied the man. "Perhaps it's to get at me."

"Okay, 1?" protested Liz, holding up an indignant finger. "I am NOT a nobody. There are probably LOTS of people who would want to kill me. Like… you know. Dennis. Because I broke up with him. And… Rose Sharpton."

Blinking, Jack looked round at her, momentarily distracted from his tactical appraisal of the man. "Who's Rose Sharpton?"

"You're kidding, right?" snorted Liz. "Only the HEAD comedy writer for CBS. My sworn rival." She crossed her arms. "Thinks she's so funny with all her stupid jokes about geeks and stuff…"

"Lemon, I don't have time for your petty meaningless…"

"And 2!" She interrupted him, holding up a second finger. "This doesn't have to be about you! Why would killing me get to you, anyway, I'm Miss Nobody, aren't I?"

"To strike at a man, you strike at his employees first, you undermine him." Drawing a card from his pocket, Jack began to jot down a number on it. "You're one of my most solid supporters, Lemon, they know they'd be striking a severe blow at my power base. We've got to nip this in the bud. Here." He handed her the card. "If you get caught with this we don't know each other, but this is my brother-in-law's number. He's done work for the CIA on occasion and he knows how to make problems disappear…"

"Oh my GOD, Jack!" Liz dropped the card in shock.

"Don't leave that lying around!" hissed Jack, snatching up the card and stuffing it back into her hand. "Commit the number to memory and then burn the card. Then dump the ashes into the coffeepot in the breakroom."

Liz hurriedly set her coffeemug aside. "I'm NOT going to poison my coworkers, Jack, and I'm NOT going to call up a murderer or whatever, because that guy is NOT an assassin!" She protested, shoving the card back into Jack's palm. "He is a NICE, HANDSOME, ORDINARY man who simply can't act!"

* * *

It was sometime around four in the morning when Liz was awoken by a sharp rapping at her door. She stumbled out of bed in her PJ's, foggily wondering what god-forsaken idiot had decided to ask for sugar at THIS hour. Half-tripping over the pile of pizza boxes by the couch, she fumbled her way to the door. Checking the peephole (She ALWAYS checked the peephole, and she ALWAYS had three locks on the door, and that baseball bat had just looked good in the umbrella stand, and NONE of this had anything to do with Jack's silly assassin), she was greeted by the reassuring sight of an NYPD badge, and cautiously opened the door on the chain (she always did that, too).

"Miss Lemon?" A chocolate-skinned woman and a heavyset detective with curly brown hair were standing in the hallway just outside.

"Hi!" Liz tried to give as warm and welcoming a smile as you could at four in the morning through a half-cracked door. "Yes, what can I do for you?"

"Nothing special, ma'am." The woman shook her head. "I'm Detective Carter and this is my partner Detective Fusco. We had a report of shots fired in the neighborhood, we were just checking around to make sure everyone is all right and see if you saw or heard anything."

Liz shook her head. "Sorry. I was asleep."

"I can see that," smirked Fusco.

Carter sent him a dark look. "Thank you, ma'am." She said, turning back to the door. "Well, we were just checking up. You have nice night."

"Right!" Liz nodded, closing the door and locking it up again (she always did that).

Shots fired. Life in the Big Apple, that. Routine, really. You couldn't go half a block without hearing one or two shots. It was practically part of the atmosphere! Random gunshots were part of what made New York City one of the most American cities on Earth!

Nothing to do with assassins.

Probably.

Despite the sleep eating away at her eyelids, Liz spent the next few hours sitting on the couch, munching on Cheetos and watching the cooking network before finally drifting off, snuggled up with her baseball bat.

* * *

It felt like she'd just closed her eyelids when she woke to a loud bang, and half-jumped up to see Jack Donaughy, standing in her doorway.

"What the…" She managed, her mind still tangled up in dream-cobwebs.

"Oh, good. You're here." Jack gave a curt nod. "Jonathon." He said, half-turning to his assistant (Jonathon was here too? Seriously?) in the hallway. "Tell the security detail that we've secured Miss Lemon and will be out shortly."

"Yes sir." Jonathon touched a hand to his earpiece. "Fruitcake located, I repeat, Fruitcake located. Out in five, prep the Applecart for delivery."

"Congratulations, Lemon, you've just won the company sweepstakes for an all-expenses-paid trip to Idaho!" Jack said, giving the apartment a quick scan. "Don't say you never applied, it's a company-wide mandatory sweepstakes, all employees are eligible to win." He was popping in and out of the various rooms now, ducking his head into closets. "So you're the lucky woman who gets to spend the next indeterminate number of days in a cabin out in the middle of the woods in Idaho until the threat has passed!" coming to stand in front of her, he beamed and clapped his hands. "So pack up and let's go!"

Liz sighed and ran a hand through her hair. "Someone told you about the gunshots, didn't they?"

"I listen to police bands at night to help me sleep. Nothing makes me feel safer than the knowledge that every second of our lives is constantly being watched." Jack poked his head into the hallway closet. "Good LORD, Lemon, this place is a mess. Where's your travel bag?"

"Just… stop it, okay, Jack?" said Liz, finally getting up and dragging him away from the closet. "They were just shots! Probably some local celebrating Cinco de Mayo or something."

Jack blinked at her. "Lemon, it's November."

"Then… Thanksgiving." Liz gave up. "I don't know! But not an assassin! Assassins don't live in New York City."

"Given that three close friends, one family member, and two ex-girlfriends of mine are assassins, I'd have to disagree." Jack frowned. "It looks like you didn't get much sleep last night, Lemon. And where did you get that baseball bat?"

"Just… around." Jack's intense stare was making Liz uncomfortably aware that she was standing in front of her boss in her more well-worn pajamas. Forcing herself past the thought, she brandished the baseball bat, shaking it in Jack's face. "And how much sleep I got last night is none of your business! Now get out of my apartment! Out! Out!"

It took her another five minutes to convince Jack to leave, and nearly half-an-hour to get showered and dressed. Somehow, she still wasn't surprised that when she finally opened the door, Jonathon was waiting on the other side with team of dour-faced ex-Navy SEALs.

* * *

Back at work(it'd taken some convincing to keep Jonathon from driving her to Idaho), Liz tried not to let her suspicions show. Or rather, not suspicions. SHE wasn't suspicious of Mr. Well-Connected-and-Scary-Looking, that was all Jack. No, all SHE was doing was making sure Jack's crazy theories didn't affect her perfectly impartial judgment.

"Now, in this sketch, you play a peace-loving hippie who would never harm a fly!" She said jovially, shoving the curly blonde wig at the man. "That shouldn't be a problem, right?"

The man (John was his name. Perfectly, non-assassin sort of name) shrugged, studying his costume. "I suppose. Could I have a knife or something?"

Liz's heart stopped. "What? Why?"

He sent her an odd look. "For the avocadoes. I'm supposed to be slicing avocadoes in this scene, right?"

""Ooooohhhhhhh!" Liz nodded brightly. "Ah… we… ah… we… took that out! Of the sketch. No more knives. Slicing avocadoes."

"Okay." The man gave a slight nod. "What about the choking? Are we still doing that?"

"Wh-wh-why would we be choking anyone?"

"It says here I'm supposed to start choking on the feather duster," explained John patiently, pointing to the script. "But I don't see how that's supposed to happen if we don't have the monkey running for the avocadoes."

"Oh, right, that. Don't, ah, worry about that." Liz said, still nodding and smiling. "We'll sort it out. Just make sure you drop the turkey gizzard on the floor."

"If you say so. One more thing…"

"Wow. Is it that time?" Liz said, glancing at her wrist (she should really get a watch) "I am SO busy. I need to run. Talk to Pete if you need anything." And jumping off the stage, she ran (because she was VERY busy) toward the bleachers. "Frank." She said, stopping the man as he came out from the props room. "We're taking the knife out of the Robocop sketch. Also, Robocop is now a hippie."

"But… what about the choking?"

"The choking's still on. Just… make him drop a banana or something."

"Whatever." Frank shrugged. "Is he still doing the shoot?"

Liz stopped and whirled. "Shoot?"

"You know. With the camera." Frank gestured to the stage, the lights, the cameras.

"Oh! Oh yes, definitely still doing the shoot, ah, the scene!" Liz answered. "I mean, why wouldn't he? It's not like there's any suspicions about his character that might make it advisable to NOT have him do the shoot!"

"Just checking." Frank pushed past her, toward the stage.

Sighing with relief, Liz was just turning to leave when she caught sight of Jenna, coming through the doors. "Oh, nononono…" She hissed, hurrying toward her friend.

Jenna was all smiles. "So, I had a spare moment, and I thought I'd come down to help and… Oh look! The new guy's still here!"

"Jenna, I don't know…"

"You know Liz, I don't think anybody ever showed tall, dark, and handsome around the studio." Jenna pointed out, trying to push past Liz. "Seems a bit rude to me. I know you're so terribly busy, but I don't have anything to do today, so I thought…"

"Listen, Jenna, I think that maybe…"

"Anyway it's not FAIR!" Jenna burst out suddenly, eyes flaring into life. "He hangs around you ALL day and follows you around and everything, and I think you might as well give me a CHANCE, Liz Lemon!"

"What? No, no, you can have him, go for it, be my guest!" Liz said, moving aside. "But Jenna, I just mean…" She glanced anxiously from her friend to the not-assassin. "…I mean, you don't really know much about this guy, and maybe you're not really a good fit for each other, like, you know, in terms of character…"

"Oh Liz." Jenna beamed at her. "The only people who worry about character are the ones who don't have any looks to worry about! Like you!

"It's just…" Liz cast another glance. "…you know, I don't… is he really all that good-looking? I mean, sure the new guy always looks sorta cute, but now that he's been here for like… well, all of two days, don't you think he's starting to look a little…" She sought about for the right word, "…homicidal?"

Jenna threw her a disbelieving glance. "Are you kidding? He's a total ladykiller."

"What?" Liz gaped.

"Well, I'm going," answered Jenna, sweeping past her. "Wish me luck!"

* * *

Apparently, Jack had calmed down enough by the end of the work day to not insist on her taking the armored car home. Not quite enough to call off whatever bodyguards he'd arranged—Liz was fairly sure there'd been at least one person following her home—but enough to accept her carrying mace instead of the pistol he'd offered.

For some reason it felt good to know that even the great Jack Donaghuey was starting to recognize there was no real threat involved. Liz chuckled as she mounted the stairs to her apartment. Professional assassin. So silly. Thank goodness she'd never bought into that nonsense.

A deliveryman was waiting by her door with a box. "Oooh!" Liz called, quickening her step. "That'll be my new meditation white noise machine!"

The man turned. He looked unusually excited for a deliveryman. Something about the eyes. And now Liz noticed that he was holding the box in an odd way—his hand was… shoved into one end? Almost like those guys did in movies when they were…

…hiding a gun.

Liz came to a complete stop and started to back pedal furiously, but the man was already raising the box in her direction, a frenzied light in his eyes.

BANG! BANG!

Liz winced at the surprisingly loud shots, already turning to run for the stairwell…

…and barreled face-first into the suit-clad man standing directly behind her.

"YOU!" Liz gasped, taking in the stony face, the steeled gaze, the silver hair.

"No time to explain," said John, lowering the pistol clutched in his right hand. "You need to come with me, now."

Liz's eyes darted from the possibly-assassin to the certainly-assassin groaning and clutching his knees on the floor. "What the what? The…"

Grabbing her hand, John pulled her to the stairwell, all the way down the stairs and into the street. Several muscled men with shaved heads turned as they exited the doors, suddenly producing switchblades from the folds of their voluminous leather coats.

"Aaah!" Liz shouted, waving her purse around. "Nerds!"

John pushed past her, arm already extended, grabbing the first attacker's arm. He twisted it and the knife clattered to the pavement, shortly followed by its groaning owner. The second attacker took a kick to the chest, the third received four strikes to the chest and one to the throat, and the fourth turned and ran five steps before John shot him in the leg.

Liz swatted one with her purse. She was pretty proud of that. "Yeah! Take THAT!"

"Come on." John grabbed her hand and dragged her down the alley toward a dark car with tinted windows at the end. He pushed her into the passenger side door and jumped into the driver's seat. As they pulled out of the alley, tires screaming, a dark SUV rounded the corner and started after them.

"Who the heck are these guys?" Liz shouted, as bullets began to whine about the car.

"The Zoroastrian Order of the Red Fez," answered John calmly. He turned and fired two shots through the back window. "Apparently they were offended by that sketch you released two weeks ago and issued a fezwa against you."

"A fezwa? Is that even a thing? And since when do Zoroastrians do that?" The window next to Liz shattered. "Gah!" She ducked.

"The Order of the Red Fez felt that their religion wasn't being taken seriously enough, so they decided a public example was needed. Apparently they tried to send a death threat but it was lost in the mail." John neatly drove between three semi-trucks and a motorcycle. His hand went to his ear. "Yes, Finch, she's safe. We're on our way now."

"WHO THE HECK ARE YOU!?" Liz screamed.

* * *

"Ah, Lemon." Jack nodded amiably at the bedraggled figure standing sullenly in the entryway of his office. "Good news. The private detective I hired to look into that new fellow—the one that couldn't act—just got in touch with me. Apparently he's completely clean. Not at all an assassin." Chuckling, he shook his head. "For once, Lemon, you were right."

"No, YOU were right. Like always." Liz stated, pointing an accusing finger in Jack's direction. "That guy IS an assassin, and what's more, I'm pretty sure he's with the government."

Jack gazed at her patronizingly. "Lemon. As encouraging as it is to see you no longer trust your own judgment, it just so happens that you were right! The man didn't even show up for work today, so clearly the situation is over."

"Oh, it's far from over." Liz insisted. "I'm willing to bet that he gets his targets from some…" She waved her hand vaguely, "…giant… government… surveillance… supercomputer… thing. Like something the Bush administration put in place to watch every second of our private lives under pretense of national security!"

"Oh come now, Lemon, this is no time for your hippie fantasies." Jack scoffed, turning over papers on his desk. "There is no such computer network, and even if there was, they would hardly use Thorngate to watch someone like YOU. "

* * *

**A/N:  
**So I got started on 30 Rock recently, LOVED it, and immediately started thinking of how it would interact with PoI, even though they're totally different genres and tones. I tried to make sure that even something as grim as a threat on Liz's life retained the distinctively 30 Rock zaniness, but honestly this isn't the sort of crossover that could go on for any time at all. Which is fine, because I wanted a short one so I could focus on my other stories.

Apparently PoI crossovers are all I'm writing right now. Someone needs to do a PoI/Terminator crossover, but not me because GOODNESS sakes I'm too busy to be even doing this. And EVERYONE needs to write more 30 Rock fics, because for a show with six seasons it has an appalling lack of them, and most of those are Jack/Liz (awesome as that pairing is). Try a crossover with MiB! Dom Geiss as Z! OR with Friends! Or even Game of Thrones... Lord Tyrion Lannister pops up in one episode. Write these things, people!

Anyway, hope you enjoyed. Please review, as always.


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